Photograph Thief
by Piscaria
Summary: Draco steals a photograph. SLASHY.


Authors Note: This is a short, short ficlet, more of a writing exercise than anything else. Feedback is always appreciated.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor do I want them. My dorm room is cramped enough as it is, thanks.  
  
Draco stole the photograph from Colin Creevy, after dinner on Monday morning. He hadn't planned to steal at all, or even to meet up with the little Gryffindor. But the mouse-haired boy stumbled down the stairs near Slytherin dungeons, lugging a satchel nearly as big as he was, and a Malfoy never lets an opportunity pass by.  
  
"Well," Draco said. "Look who's come to join us."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle turned at his voice, forgetting their search for the loose brick Draco's father had told them about. Creevy's wide eyes flickered from one to the other, and he immediately began to stammer. Draco only smiled.  
  
"Tell me, Creevy," he said, stepping closer and lying a paternal hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Why are sneaking around the dungeons?"  
  
"I'm not!" Creevy squeaked, and a large tear actually splashed from one eye. He wiped it off, puffed his thin chest bravely, and said, "I just got lost. I'll leave now, all right?"  
  
"Not so quickly," Draco said. "You just got here." And he nodded his chin to Crabbe and Goyle, and stepped a safe distance away.  
  
"Teach him a lesson," he said.  
  
Creevy wept through the beating that followed, but Draco barely managed to keep his mind at it. Petty bullying didn't interest him, not anymore. Let Crabbe and Goyle amuse themselves with such playground thuggery. Draco Malfoy was a hunter, and he preferred his prey with teeth.  
  
So the muffled grunts and meaty sounds passed unnoticed, until Goyle yanked the younger boy's satchel free from its strap, and held it upside down. A ream of photographs spilled onto the stone floor, whispering against each other like falling leaves. One landed against the toe of Draco's boot, and he retrieved it with a frown.  
  
Harry Potter, sleeping in the library.  
  
Draco's lips narrowed, and he grabbed a bunch of pictures from the floor, staring at the many Harry Potters within them. Gryffindor's golden boy smiled, and frowned, and chewed on the end of his quill. He spiraled through the air at Quidditch practice, laughed with Granger and Weasley in the Great Hall, and flipped pages in the library. Green eyes stared at Draco from a hundred photographed faces, and he almost trembled at the impact.  
  
He wondered, vaguely, if it might not be the Avada Kedavra spell that killed you after all, but rather the flash of green that accompanied it.  
  
"Draco?" Crabbe grunted.  
  
He shook himself, and through his handful to the air. "Potter," he spat.  
  
Harry Potters rained to the ground, and Draco watched them fall. Only when the last smiling face landed did he straighten his shoulders, and motion for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him.  
  
"Come on," he said. "Lets find something worthwhile to do."  
  
They frowned and blinked in confusion, wondering why he was ending their fun so quickly.  
  
"Come on," Draco repeated. Crabbe sighed, and released his hold on Creevy's shirt.  
  
"Later," he warned, and Goyle slammed his large fist into Creevy's nose one more time, to make sure he'd heard.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco around the corner and into the Slytherin common room. Neither of them noticed the photograph he'd hidden away in his robes.  
  
* * *  
  
Later that night, long after the Crabbe and Goyle fell asleep, Draco eased the stolen photograph out of his robe pocket. It was wrinkled, speckled a little with lint, and he straightened it the best he could, staring into the photograph with hungry eyes.  
  
Harry Potter lay curled in the corner of a library sofa, an open book on his chest. Dark-framed glasses rested on the very tip of his nose, revealing those eyes, closed now in sleep. As Draco watched, that slender chest lifted and fell, and a tremor ran through the still-sleeping body. He wore no robe, only too-baggy jeans and one of those horrid sweaters the Weasley boys wore. His wand lay forgotten in one hand, barely held by his curling fingers.  
  
Draco bit his lip, and his heart started to beat a little faster. Imagine finding Harry Potter alone like this.  
  
He would strike without mercy, and the golden king would fall. Imagine the crunch of Draco's fist against that nose, glasses crumpling. Harry Potter would shudder to wakefulness, lost and confuse in the shower of Draco's fist.  
  
Or maybe, Draco thought, and his heart started to beat a little faster. Maybe he needn't strike so quickly.  
  
Maybe, for now, he could touch his tousled hair, and trace the wrinkled lines of Harry's forehead. He could ease the lines away, kiss his eyelids, and whisper Harry's name, his first name, into the tender skin there. Green eyes would flutter open, stare up in confusion, and he could steal a kiss in that moment, disregarding the years of hate between them, disregarding the seconds of hate to follow. Harry's eyes, focusing on Draco's face. Harry's face, grimacing in disgust.  
  
"What are you doing Malfoy?" he would say.  
  
What am I doing? Draco thought.  
  
Even as he watched, a pale, freckled hand appeared in the photographs periphery, and landed on Harry's shoulder, shaking him awake. Harry started, and the book fell fluttering to the floor.  
  
Draco inhaled through his teeth, and wishing he could stall the photograph, stop it here. Harry smiled, but not at him, and the odd tenderness in Draco bled away.  
  
"I hate you, Harry Potter," he whispered, and carefully concealed the photo beneath his pillow.  
  
He'd burn it tomorrow.  
  
The End 


End file.
